Albion Burning
by andromeda141414
Summary: Arthur rises from the Lake of Avalon in what is Albion, and the world's, greatest time of need. Can Merlin protect him while he fights for his new destiny, or will the legend of the Once and Future King be lost forever in the wake of the apocalypse. Set post-5X13. Merlin/Arthur romance, friendship, and some juicier stuff later on...
1. Chapter 1: The Broken Obelisk

Chapter One: The Broken Obelisk

Arthur's eyes shot open, his inactive lungs taking in a sharp breath of what turned out not to be air at all, but ice cold water. He was surrounded by cool blue with ribbons of light dancing through the strange new world around him. In an instant, the Once and Future King's every limb was alive with the fire of adrenaline and he was thrashing wildly toward the silvery ceiling overhead.

He surfaced with a dramatic splash and the most frantic gasp he'd ever taken. It seemed that the chilled air around him might never be enough to quench his thirst for oxygen. He still felt like he was drowning.

_How long have I been under? _

It took another few moments of panting before Arthur could blink the fluid from his eyes and look around. It was freezing, and with his chainmail weighing him down he knew he'd have to be free of what seemed to be a lake as soon as he could manage it—but every practical thought was torn from his mind when the world came into focus around him.

This wasn't _his_ world.

He was definitely in a lake, not far from the center near and island where a crumbled obelisk now lie broken by the ages. Ruins and lakes were no great surprise to him though—what nearly knocked him back below the surface was what rose beyond the body of water.

Rolling green hills, again nothing unusual, but on the horizon were what looked like shining towers of silver gleaming in the sunlight. The sky was pale orange and clouded over, but the familiar disk of the sun illuminated the landscape and sent rays bouncing off the water and nearly blinding him. He tried shielding his eyes with the gauntlet-shrouded hand but it was no use. This strange new world around him continued to look like a trick of the light.

Not far from the shore was a long strip of black and white. Some sort of cart or chariot was pulled to the side, sticking half out of the water in a way that it most certainly shouldn't have been. Beyond the blackened path, where a forest had once been, was a village the size of a small kingdom—each building large enough to house the family of a nobleman.

Arthur blinked uncontrollably, swallowing hard and whipping his head around like a maniac. The world smelled foul—like the earth had been churned up around him and spilled the blood of monsters out onto the land. The air was thicker than he remembered, and for a moment he felt as though he couldn't breathe. His confused composure collapsed into panic.

"M—Merlin." He choked out, immediately biting it back. His voice was horse as though it hadn't been used in centuries. His breath came quicker—if that was even possible. He remembered everything.

The way Mordred's sword had felt slicing through his flesh, the agony of the shard working its way toward his heart, His brief but meaningful journey with Merlin—Merlin the sorcerer—who did everything he could to save him. In the end his closest ally's efforts had been in vain when the two of them collapsed not far from the shores of Avalon. The image of Merlin leaning over him, gripping his hair with tears streaming down his face was too vivid to bear. The boy had done everything and fought, even when his king no longer could, but in the end Arthur had left him. The last thing he remembered was Merlin's face inches from his and his own lips uttering a weak "Thank you" as he stared into the brave sorcerer's deep blue eyes.

Arthur ripped himself from his memories, pressing his hand to his mouth and forcing back tears. Perhaps there would be time to make amends with his own heart later—when he knew where he was. With his memory restored Arthur at last recognized the place where he stood.

The Lake of Avalon—his final resting place. How was he still here? His body would have been long gone? But perhaps it was best not to question the magic of the land when he was just happy to be breathing again. But then there was that question rising in his mind again.

_How long have I been under? _

Arthur began to wade clumsily toward the shore of the obelisk island—it was closer and more familiar than the mainland. As he staggered through the chest-deep water he prayed quietly to himself that he hadn't been gone for too long—a few years? But then what were those shining towers on the horizon? And what was this horrible stench in the air? Where were the trees? Arthur collapsed onto the bank of the Island and headed for the hilltop.

And where were all the people?

All of these thoughts were erased from his mind as a new, far more powerful one crept in.

_Where is Merlin? _

Instantly another rush of cold fire surged through Arthur's limbs. The King, always so brave and collected under pressure began to panic as he reached the summit of the green bluff. Feeling as though he might faint like a damsel in distress, Arthur pressed his back against the base of the crumbled obelisk and watched the world spin around him. His mind was consumed by thoughts and possibilities of what had become of his servant—the dearest person in the world to him. Had Merlin gone on? Had he returned to Camelot? Where was he now?

Arthur's throat swelled as he tried to choke back another bout of panic.

_Had Merlin died? _

Naturally he must have—everyone dies. With the world so different it must have been years and years since he'd said a bittersweet thanks to his sorcerer on the shore of Avalon.

Everything was silent except for a thud and the momentary ring of chainmail as Arthur sank to the ground. He slumped forward, letting his heart slow in his chest until he reached a point of placid confusion. He couldn't rise from the lake on his own—and couldn't for the life of him think of why he'd returned from the veil in the first place.

The king let his head fall between his knees. He couldn't bear to look at the evidence around him that his own world was gone. Wherever he was, he never wanted to leave the spot where he'd come to rest against the obelisk. It was the only thing left that was even remotely familiar—even if it was in ruin.

The king, once a man of action and unrivaled fearlessness, felt he'd reached his limit this time.

"Arthur!"

Arthur raised his eyes and blinked into the sunlight once more.

"ARTHUR!"

There it was again, louder. The young king narrowed his eyes at the speck of dark blue making distant ripples by the lakeshore.

The gears in Arthur's head began to turn as he strained his ears to hear the figure call out again. The voice was impossible to make out at such a distance, and between the blinding sun and dancing water it could easily have been a trick of the light. Perhaps he was hallucinating.

But that voice was unmistakable.

"Merlin?" Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he whispered the words to himself, refusing to believe it.

"ARTHUR!" the figure was growing closer, stumbling through the shallow water.

Arthur rose to his feet faster than he thought possible—the weight of his armor making no difference as he stepped forward, squinting.

"MERLIN?!" He felt stupid as soon as the name left his lips—like he was calling out to a mirage.

"ARTHUR!"

An explosion of warmth and fire raged through the young king's flesh and settled in his heart. He raced forward into the ice-cold water until it pushed back on his knees and nearly sent him tumbling headlong into the lake. He waded as quickly as his strength would allow until he was chest deep and could make out the silhouette of his long-lost friend—although the wildfire in his heart told Arthur that the young sorcerer was much more than that to him.

Arthur had to step back into waist deep water and wait for Merlin to come to him—which was harder than he anticipated as the boy's face became visible through the blinding sun. He fought the urge to rush forward for fear of drowning beneath the weight of his chainmail.

Merlin's face was just as Arthur remembered it—his dark hair dripping down over his pale skin and the smile that was spread from cheek to cheek. His dark blue eyes were shining like they'd never done before. Upon making out the face of his friend, Arthur's expression of broken shock melted into pure joy as they crashed together at last. He wrapped himself around merlin, pressing his face into the young man's soaking wet neck. Merlin held him as though he'd never let go, laughing joyously so that Arthur felt the uneven rise and fall of the servant's chest against his.

At last they broke apart, with nothing but the shining waters of Lake Avalon between them.

"Arthur I—I don't believe this!" Merlin's wonderfully familiar voice was brimming with awe. "I was beginning to think—"

Arthur wasn't listening. Although their time apart had been brief from his own point of view, the last he remembered of the young sorcerer was him leaned over his king's dying body, begging him not to go. Merlin's smile was exactly the comfort he needed in this shocking new world.

"Arthur!" The king snapped back to reality as Merlin's smile melted to concern, "Arthur can't you speak?!"

Arthur swallowed and smiled again. "Of course I can speak you dimwit." He reached out and ruffled the boy's wet hair. "What the hell are you wearing?"

It was a valid question. Merlin's clothes were like nothing he'd ever seen. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers curiously. It felt too smooth to be wool and the droplets of water practically rolled right off of it.

"It'll explain later." Merlin laughed and the two began to follow one another toward the island once more. Apparently Merlin had no desire to return to the shore either.

The fire roared to life with Merlin's wordless command. It still sent a cold chill down Arthur's spine to see the Servant he thought he'd known so well doing something as strange to him as magic. But that was no matter now. The gold flare across Merlin's dark irises was among the crumbling obelisk on Arthur's list of things that still felt real.

The world was growing dark, and although the sky was clear and the moon was a crescent, the black dome above them was darker than Arthur imaged possible.

"What happened to the stars?" Was Arthur's first question about the world he had awoken in. He hadn't dared to ask anything else yet.

"They're still there." Merlin said, poking the fire. The servant's voice was different—a difference that sounded like the accumulation of years of loneliness. "They're just blocked out by all the other lights."

"What other lights?" The landscape was dark.

"All over the world." Merlin said calmly.

Arthur didn't understand. Even with all the lights in Camelot on full blaze, the sky had still been brilliant.

Merlin must have read Arthur's mind, as he often did, and said with a half-smile, "it's not important now. You should rest. You're back from the dead after all."

"Why?" Arthur asked, sitting back against the wall of the ruins.

"Well you look pretty tired and I—"

"No." the young king cut him off, "why am I back from the dead."

Merlin lowered his eyes. "The dragon said you'd return when Albion was in its time of greatest need."

"And what time is that exactly?" Arthur bit his lip as his heart pounded. He wasn't sure he wanted the answer.

Merlin swallowed hard, looking directly into his eyes sending a wave of mixed feelings through Arthur's body.

"The year is 2013." He said in a low voice.

There it was again, that wave of burning adrenalin that surged through Arthur's body like a river on fire—but this time his head could hardly handle it and he was overcome with an uncontrollable dizziness. Merlin's hands were on him in seconds, keeping him from falling as the young king gripped his own skull.

More than a thousand years! Everyone was gone! His beloved Gwenivere! Had she taken over in his place? She was strong and he knew she would have ruled well but his heart would break if he'd awoken to a world without someone he cared so much about! And his knights? What had become of them after the battle? And in the years that followed? And Gaius and—he felt rare tears welling up behind his eyes—

What had become of Camelot?

Arthur fought his own uncontrollable sadness as Merlin's warm hands lingered on his neck. He knew his eyes were glassy and all the blood had rushed from his face. His breath came in quick bouts.

"Calm down Arthur." Merlin almost ordered, "You'll hyperventilate!"

"What does that mean?!" Arthur found himself snapping at his long lost friend. Merlin's eyes were forgiving but the young king's emotions were getting the best of him at last. "What does any of this mean?! Where am I?! What happened to everyone?! What happened to Camelot?!"

As quickly as his outburst had begun, Arthur fell silent once more, falling to his knees and pressing his face into his hands.

"What does any of this mean Merlin?" His voice was muffled and he refused to look up. "Why now? What is _Albion's time of greatest need_?"

Merlin lowered himself to look Arthur in the eyes. Their faces were only a few inches apart, as they'd been when Arthur had died in the young sorcerer's arms.

"Albion's time of greatest need is upon us."

The young man's voice was grave in a way that made Arthur's blood run cold.

Merlin almost whispered, "Arthur…'

'This is the apocalypse."

Chapter Two: A Brave Old World

A couple thousand broken hearted years later and Merlin was finally reunited with his King.

Watching the light fade from Arthur's eyes had been enough to rip him apart for years. He did return to Camelot. Even after all those years Merlin remembered giving the news to Gwen. She was so strong but she cried in chorus with the entire kingdom. Merlin's tears had been spent by then. He wondered if he'd ever cry again. Of course he cried when Gaius had died and Merlin at last realized the curse of his apparent immortality. When he knew his place in Camelot was gone he left to live on the shores of Avalon where he knew he belonged.

His heart broke again when Camelot fell to Normans along with the rest of Albion. As that war tore the land apart Merlin would sit all day and watch the waters of Lake Avalon for Arthur to rise. It was terrifying to think that a darker day was coming for the kingdom they'd built together.

Over and over Merlin's heart was broken—by the unending deaths of friends that he made throughout the years—by the rise and fall of empires—by the landscape being torn apart by mankind. As the world fluctuated between war and peace, Merlin also found happiness too. He watched people learn and prosper and create and build. And when civilization finally found him he melted awkwardly in with society. He learned with them and lived in peace with the decedents of his people, all the while watching the waters of Lake Avalon.

He aged as naturally as a powerful sorcerer could, all the while knowing that he could be young again whenever he wanted but never really bothering. He had no reason to be young if there was no one to be young with. He tried to keep up with the changing world—spending years studying different things, and there were always new things to study. He thought of Gaius whenever he opened a book on modern medicine. He took Arthur's last advice, keeping it in mind whenever his heart was breaking under the weight of the endless years—he never changed who he was.

He was still him.

But god how the world changed—faster and faster until it seemed to be spinning out of control. Reality rushing around him as he sat on the shores of Lake Avalon watching the water and remembering the greatest years of his long life—never losing faith that one day the world would grow so dark that his king would rise from the waters and return to his arms.

Then it did.

Some force more powerful than any he'd seen since before the fall of Camelot swept over the land.


	2. Chapter 2: An Old World

Chapter Two: An Old World

A couple thousand broken hearted years later and Merlin was finally reunited with his King.

Ten centuries of immortality and still nothing was burned into the back of his mind quite like Arthur's final moments. Even after an eternity he still had to choke back tears when he thought of the light fading from his king's eyes—and their final tender moments on the grassy shore.

He did return to Camelot after all was said and done. Merlin still vividly remembered giving the news to Gwen. She was so strong but she cried in chorus with the entire kingdom. Merlin's tears had been spent by then. He wondered if he'd ever cry again. Of course he cried when Gaius died and Merlin at last realized the curse of his immortality. When he knew his place in Camelot was gone he left to live on the shores of Avalon where he knew he belonged.

His heart broke again when Camelot fell in the Norman Conquest centuries later, along with the rest of Albion. As that war tore the land apart Merlin would sit all day and watch the waters of Lake Avalon for Arthur to rise. It was terrifying to think that a darker day was coming for the kingdom.

Over and over Merlin watched in resigned sadness while empires rose and fell. As the world fluctuated between war and peace, the young warlock found happiness as well. He watched people learn and prosper and create and build. And when civilization finally caught up to him he melted awkwardly in with society. He learned with them and lived in peace with the decedents of his people, all the while watching over the waters of Lake Avalon.

He aged as naturally as a powerful sorcerer could, knowing the whole time that he could be young again whenever he wished but never really bothering to make the change. He had no reason to be young if there was no one to be young with. He tried to keep up with the changing world—often spending years studying different subjects. He thought of Gaius whenever he opened a book on modern medicine and never could keep from laughing at the healing methods he remembered from centuries before.

And whenever he felt his heart breaking beneath the weight of the endless years he could hear Arthur's voice softly whispering too him—telling him to never change.

He was still him.

But god how the world changed—faster and faster until it seemed to be spinning out of control. Reality rushing around him as he sat on the shores of Lake Avalon watching the water and remembering the greatest years of his long life—never losing faith that one day the world would grow so dark that his king would rise from the waters and return to his arms.

Even still, he wasn't quite prepared when it did.

Although magic was never truly lost from the land, it was pushed away by mankind slowly until it had been long forgotten. Merlin believed there was no one else left who could wield the true power of the old religion.

Perhaps the soul of the land itself had feared the end of magic, and had ripped open the veil between worlds and let the greatest forces in heaven and earth spill out. Or maybe it had been someone who knew the secrets of the ancient powers—whoever—or whatever that could possibly be.

For months civilization was torn apart in the chaos as spirits from the otherworld were released into this one. Even Merlin, the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, was helpless to stop the apocalypse when it was the forces of magic itself that had catalyzed it.

So he survived while the world collapsed into chaos, all the while watching the waters of Lake Avalon knowing that the King's Return would be soon.

Because Albion needed Arthur.

Because _the world _needed Arthur.

Arthur was asleep at last. His face was turned toward the fire and his angular features were casting shadows over his gently closed eyes. Merlin had tried drifting off a few times now but had ultimately failed. For the first time in centuries he really felt alive. Maybe it was just switching back to his youthful form for Arthur's sake, but every time his eyes flickered toward the sleeping king his heart skipped a beat and left his limbs feeling warm. He wasn't certain what he was feeling but only knew he hadn't experienced anything like it in all his time without Arthur.

Merlin had to try not to stare, manipulating the dying flames into shapes just to keep his eyes from straying to his sleeping companion. Every time he looked for too long, Arthur's face morphed into a memory and filled Merlin with familiar feelings of pain and regret. He also felt strange watching the young man as he slept.

The sorcerer happened to have his gaze on Arthur when the young king's eyes opened groggily. Merlin looked away quickly, hoping his king hadn't noticed. It was all so familiar, and for a moment it felt like they were on an adventure again, centuries in the past, with their horses tied up nearby and imminent danger ahead.

"Were you staring at me?" Arthur joked lazily and sat up. There were dark rings under his striking blue eyes—all the confusion was weighing heavily on him.

Merlin searched for the right retort but found nothing in his arsenal of what he needed Arthur to hear. All he managed was a quiet murmur. "I still can't believe you're here."

Arthur's smirk fell and he replied with a straight face and downcast eyes, "Neither can I."

They were silent again for a while. The horizon in the east was just beginning to turn light blue, changing the landscape into a forest of silhouettes. At last Arthur spoke again.

"So what does that make you then? Like One Thousand years old?"

A half smile crept across Merlin's face, "Yes." He replied. "Something like that."

Arthur chuckled, "You look pretty good for a-thousand."

"Was that a compliment?" Merlin turned to Arthur with a grin of fake surprise. He'd missed this more than he had thought.

Arthur snorted, "Don't flatter yourself Mer-lin." He drew out the young sorcerer's name as he often did when they bantered.

Merlin shrugged. "The sun's going to be up soon. We need to eat."

Arthur nodded in agreement and shifted into a more comfortable position, grunting slightly. Merlin wondered if the king was feeling the weight of his centuries in Avalon—or if that was even possible.

"I'll go into town when it gets a little lighter," Merlin said.

Arthur replied almost sternly "You're not going anywhere without me." Merlin would have to grow accustomed to the king barking orders at him again.

"Afraid I'm going to leave you here all alone?" The sorcerer teased as if Arthur had been fearing for himself. Merlin was bluffing though. He wasn't sure his king was ready for what lie beyond the shores of the lake.

The two met one another's eyes, Merlin's heart swelling with affection as Arthur pulled himself to his feet. The young warlock hadn't doubted for a second that Arthur thought himself brave enough to face this darkened world.

"You'll need a weapon." Merlin said, trying to smother the fondness in his tone.

He watched Arthur's hand fumble awkwardly at his empty sheath. The king raised his eyes to Merlin whose lips had curled into another smile.

"Where is it?" Arthur asked, "What happened to my sword?"

Merlin replied softly, "it's safe. It's been safe all this time."

He gave Arthur a nod then started off down the hill in as mysterious a way as he could manage. Merlin heard the king snort in sarcastic disbelief and knew Arthur was rolling his eyes, but moments later he heard the metallic jingling of armored footfalls trotting up behind him.

Merlin didn't want to step back into the icy water, but what choice did he have. He waded in while Arthur stood on the shore.

"Where are you going dollop-head?" The king's voice was lighthearted but brimming with something like concern. When Merlin didn't reply with more than a hand gesture, Arthur called again. "Merlin!?"

Merlin didn't have to speak, or even wait before the moonlight caught something rising out of the water. It was a fast, almost heroic gesture as the pale arm thrust the gleaming blade up from the depths. Excalibur was practically glowing as it reflected the moon on the water and the pale light of early morning. It split the night and sent ripples of magic out into the air.

A smile crept across Merlin's face. He'd been waiting a hundred lifetimes for this. Freya had been true to her title, keeping the enchanted blade for eternity while Albion awaited its king.

"Who—" Merlin heard Arthur's voice trail off in disbelief as the young sorcerer fastened his grip around the hilt and watched with a little bit of sadness as the white hand slid back below the silvery surface. But the Lady of the Lake was as eternal as the land itself and Merlin felt comforted by this.

As the young sorcerer turned, he found Arthur had splashed into the lake up to his knees and was staring with wide eyes as the spectacle he'd just witnessed.

"The lady of the Lake." Merlin nodded to the King, "The keeper of your sword."

Arthur shook his head slightly, his eyes running down the blade. Merlin saw the attachment there in his gaze as the once and future king ever-so-cautiously slid his fingers around the silvery hilt. The young man lifted it effortlessly from Merlin's grasp, his eyes never leaving the steel as he held it out, testing it as if to make sure it was still his own. Arthur grinned.

"I wish I could thank her." Arthur said, running his fingers ever so lightly over the blade.

"She knows." Merlin nodded, smiling to himself. He sized Arthur up, knowing it was time to introduce him to the world he'd awoken too—however desolate it might be.


	3. Chapter 3: Departure from Avalon

Chapter Three: Departure from Avalon

Arthur was soaked by the time he scraped himself up onto the shores of the Lake of Avalon. Merlin was fine, given that he wasn't weighed down by fifty pounds of armor and a sword in his belt. They crested the hill side by side and set foot onto the dark black path which turned out to be surprisingly sturdy. The king wasn't sure what he'd expected.

"What is this?" Arthur asked Merlin when the sorcerer seemed to pay it no mind.

"Asphalt." The young servant replied. His blue-gray gaze was fixed up ahead as it always was when he was more focused on his own thoughts than what Arthur had to say—which was often. After all, He was _like a swan_, apparently. Arthur's heart sank when he realized that the ageless Merlin probably didn't remember that conversation. How much of their time together had the sorcerer forgotten?

The air still smelled foul to Arthur. He tried not to breathe but the stench wasn't clearing away so he allowed it into his lungs with a sneer. He was about to ask his companion about it when he turned to find Merlin's eyes already on him.

"What now?" Arthur asked, only pretending to be irritated.

"Nothing." Merlin looked away, clearly a bit embarrassed.

"Still can't believe I'm here?" Arthur joked, but he immediately wished he could take it back. How long had it been for his friend? Had Merlin been alone for so long that he really _was_ having trouble excepting Arthur's presence?

Merlin smiled, seeming unfazed by Arthur's thoughtless statement. They made their way down what was clearly a road aimed right toward the town Arthur had noticed the day before. The sun was rising behind it, painting every wall and roof and giant house shadow-black. As they passed by the strange wagon sticking out of the water, Arthur eyed it curiously.

It wasn't like any cart he'd ever seen—but that was to be expected. It had wheels made of some sort of black, foul smelling substance and its hull was constructed entirely of gleaming metal.

Arthur already knew it was a stupid question but he asked anyway.

"Where do they hook the horses to this wagon?" He asked.

Merlin laughed, but choked it back, realizing that Arthur really didn't know.

"It's called a car. It runs on its own. It doesn't have horses." The sorcerer said neutrally.

Arthur made sure to shoot him his most skeptical glare.

"I thought you said mankind had forgotten about magic." They kept walking.

Merlin smiled and replied in a cocky voice, "It's not magic, Arthur, its engineering."

The king was still uncertain. He peered over his shoulder at the reeking monstrosity. "How does it work then?"

Merlin didn't try to hide his laughter this time. "That would take a long time to explain." His answer was simple, and they left the subject for the time being.

"Don't you need a weapon?" Arthur asked, immediately wanting to hit himself for it. He was never going to get used to Merlin's abilities—even though technically he'd known for centuries.

The warlock just gave him a sheepish smile—the kind that sent Arthur's head spinning for reasons he didn't understand. The boy already knew Arthur had realized his mistake.

By the time they'd reached the heart of what was apparently a "small town", Arthur felt breathless and overstimulated. Everything he saw didn't make any sense when Merlin did his best to explain it. They'd come across plenty more of those "self-running wagons", some pulled to the side of the road while others had been abandoned in the streets—with their doors still hanging wide open. Peering through storefront windows of clear glass, Arthur made not of the clothing he saw on giant, white-faced dolls. He was instantly glad that the village seemed void of people given that his full body armor would have certainly stood out in comparison to the light, brightly colored fabrics that seemed to show way more skin than Arthur was used to. And he had thought Merlin's clothes were strange.

"Every house here is massive." Arthur stated the obvious, "There must be a dozen rooms in each one. How many families share these?"

"One." Merlin stated plainly. "Sometimes it's just one person on their own."

Arthur laughed before realizing that Merlin wasn't joking. "Is everyone in this age as rich as a king?"

Merlin shrugged, "In some ways—but these people were middle class."

"What's middle class?" Arthur asked, hoping he didn't look like a lost child as he gazed around in awe at the unfamiliar world.

Merlin chuckled, "you and I are going to have to sit down and have a long talk soon."

Arthur groaned audibly. "I'm looking forward to it already."

Suddenly there was a loud crack from a nearby patch of trees. Merlin turned in a flash, his hands at the ready. Arthur could practically see his friend's heart racing.

"What?!" Arthur hissed, unsheathing his sword with that oh-so-sweet sound of steel rubbing against leather.

"Nothing," Merlin turned with an apologetic look, "probably just an animal."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the sorcerer. "Merlin," He said softly but sternly, "Are we in danger here?"

"I don't know." Merlin's reply was sincere. "I haven't seen any of _them_ in the area for a while."

"And they'd kill us?" Arthur asked, "Why?"

"I don't know. Because we're human and we're their enemy?"

Arthur glanced around. Suddenly the village seemed less like another world and more like the ruins he'd walked through time and time again—abandoned, and still hanging with an eerie atmosphere of death and danger. He kept his sword out as they walked.

"Here." Merlin said as they came to a stop in front of one building in particular. Arthur didn't know what was special about it—he also didn't know why the words "Food Lion" hung in giant metal letters above the windows, but he could safely assume it had something to do with food.

They crossed an enormous clearing of the tarry black substance that the roads were made of. The plain was strewn with "cars" in all different shapes and sizes. Apparently the entire population of Albion had been in one place—if everyone rode around in one of those self-propelled chariots.

As they approached the storefront, two panes of unbelievably smooth glass slid open on their own, letting out a blast of cool air. Arthur jumped back.

"Did you do that?" He turned to the young sorcerer.

Merlin pursed his lips, clearly fighting back a smile and said "nope."

Arthur rolled his eyes—they weren't in any danger if Merlin was still so calm, and now he was just getting sick of the servant messing with him.

Merlin read his mind again, "No really, Arthur." The boy chuckled, "They do that on their own."

"Just like the cars?" Arthur said skeptically.

"Just like the cars." The sorcerer repeated with a stifled grin.

Arthur's cheeks burned. He hated feeling so out of control. He'd never felt so dependent on another person in his life—and Merlin was being smug about it too, which just heated him up even more.

Inside the building the air was cool—surprisingly so actually. Arthur was done asking question that weren't going to get answered though, so he kept his mouth shut. That is—until Merlin flipped a massive switch on the wall behind a counter and the darkened chamber flooded with light.

It was awful, unnatural white light, brighter than the sun, and it stopped Arthur in his tracks.

"Wha—" Arthur stammered. He had watched Merlin closely this time and the boy's irises had certainly not flared.

"Electricity." Merlin replied. There was that little grin again. "Pretty much everything runs on it."

All Arthur could think was magic—or sorcery of some sort.

"It's not magic, it's engineering." Merlin answered his unuttered question.

"Electricity. Like lightning." Arthur stated, hoping he didn't look as lost as he felt.

"Sort of." Merlin smiled—a genuine smile, not a smug one. "It's not important right now. What's important is finding food."

"That shouldn't be a problem." Arthur turned to the chamber. Shelf after metal shelf created a catacomb of colorful packages and shining floors.

"It's already been picked through." said Merlin as they stepped deeper into the maze. "Pretty much everybody who was in town was here before us."

Arthur sheathed his sword and walked deeper into the store. There was a section filled with fruits and vegetables—that was obvious—but everything else was tightly sealed in smooth, waxy feeling packages and containers. Arthur found it hard to believe that any of these things actually contained food.

"Most of this fruit is rotten by now." Merlin called from an isle over, "But there's still some good stuff. Look for things in cans."

_Cans, cans…_ Arthur thought. _What the hell is he talking about?_

Merlin appeared at the end of the isle. "Sorry." He said, "I keep forgetting what we had in medieval times."

"The medieval tim—" Arthur stopped. He was done sounding like an idiot child.

Merlin gave him a kind look, sending another rush of warmth through Arthur's limbs.

"It's your first day." Merlin's voice was vaguely reassuring, "It's been thousands of years."

Arthur didn't respond. He wasn't in the mood to talk about his feelings—in fact, he wasn't in the mood to do much other than find something to eat. He was suddenly aware of the biting hunger knowing at him from the inside of his stomach. He hadn't had anything to eat in centuries.

Merlin walked ahead of Arthur, scanning the shelves for something that was still edible. The king watched him, mentally thanking him for everything the servant was doing for him. That was the thing—it was 2013, Merlin had no reason to still be serving Arthur. He had no reason to still be here.

His companion's words played in his head as if it were yesterday rather than lifetimes ago.

_I was born to be your servant…_

But they both knew that Merlin was hardly a servant. He was Arthur's friend—and the only person he had left.

Arthur swallowed hard before he asked, "Will they hurt you?"

"What?" Merlin turned around, that familiar look of warm curiosity in his eyes. Every hour they spent together it seemed Arthur was having more and more trouble hiding his fondness for the young sorcerer.

"Will _they_ hurt you? You know, since you've—" Arthur swallowed, "even though you've got magic?"

"They've tried before." Merlin shrugged, "Maybe they know I'm not on their side."

There was a pause before Merlin continued.

"It's never been about Magic versus non-magic. It's about people versus the things that want to hurt them."

Before long, the king had learned was a "tin can" was, and was helping his companion stuff "plastic water bottles" into a backpack. He'd had his fill of the last of the good carrots and apples in the store.

"Here." Merlin came to sit beside him, their backs were up against the cold metal of the shelves—not that Arthur could tell through his armor. Their shoulders were nearly touching as the young sorcerer reached over and handed him an open bag of a hundred thin little wafers. Arthur reached in and grabbed ahold of one of the yellowish mouthfuls, eyeing it suspiciously. It crumbled in his grasp.

Merlin laughed, "They're going to go bad soon anyways so we might as well eat them instead of going through our canned food faster than we need to."

Arthur reached in and grabbed another, gently this time. Whatever these little crisps were they clearly were not meant to be held by metal gauntlets. He placed the unfamiliar food hesitantly onto his tongue.

He spat it out almost instantly—like he'd run his tongue across broken glass.

"That tastes like a salt-lick." He hissed, trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

"It's just potato chip you prat." Merlin's blue-gray eyes were alive with amusement. For a moment Arthur didn't reply, rather, he found himself matching the servant's gaze, holding it for far too long…

He was about to reply when a commotion rang out from the front of the chamber. Arthur was on his feet in an instant, unsheathing his sword. Merlin followed quickly behind him, just like old times.

As the front door came into view, their eyes fell on the figures illuminated by the unnatural light.

The creatures. Something like human but with dead eyes and like they'd been through the ringer. According to Merlin they didn't tire or eat—they were just carcasses of adrenalin and rage, not looking for food or wandering the land like animals—but hunting in packs for sport.

Hunting for people.

There were ten of them, peering back and forth at one another. Each toted a bladed weapon—mostly unfamiliar to Arthur aside from a sword and a butcher-knife. Something about the predatory way they stalked into the light made the king's blood run cold.

"Get back," Merlin hissed, "we need to find another way out."

Arthur flicked a glance over his shoulder, but when he looked back toward the monsters he realized they were too late.

The beast's eyes were on them.


	4. Chapter 4: Men and Monsters

Chapter Four: Men and Monsters

Merlin swallowed hard, his entire body tensing for an attack. Arthur was in front of him, sword drawn, shoulders rising and falling more quickly than before.

It was all the young warlock could do not to shout when he uttered a pointed "Run!"

Lightning ripped through Merlin's core and sent a burst of kinetic force from his outstretched palm, throwing four of the monsters back against the wall with a cacophony of loud cracks. He didn't wait around to see how the others would react—he and Arthur ran.

The back of the grocery store was further than he'd anticipated, and within seconds they were overcome by the screeching swarm at their heels.

Merlin watched something shift in Arthur's eyes. The young warrior's lips curled into a determined grimace as he let out what could only be called a battle cry and swung his sword as though all the power in the world were surging within him—it was a spectacle Merlin had witnessed time and time again.

The companions fought back-to-back as they made their way to the side exit. Arthur swung again, thrusting his blade through the abdomen as the monster howled in an alien sort of pain. Merlin hissed a runic phrase as one of the remaining creatures came down on his king with a meat cleaver, his words setting the improvised weapon ablaze in its hands. The beast yowled and dropped the blade, turning his eyes to Merlin only to be swiftly impaled by King Arthur. The monster fell at Merlin's feet as the two companions exchanged a nod of comradery before rushing the door.

The lock gave way with the weight of two full grown men against it and opened with a metallic screech. With three monster's remaining on their heels, Merlin and Arthur broke free of the building and poured into the light of day.

The young warlock's heart dropped in his chest. Standing before them was a yowling mob of what must have been thirty of the beasts—human faces but with eyes like bloodthirsty animals, all locked on their prey. Had they been waiting for the others to flush them out or was this just an unlucky occurrence? There would be time to think about that later—Merlin hoped.

The two survivors flashed each other a glance. There was no hope of escape without a fight, especially since these monsters had about twice their human speed. Without needing orders from Arthur, Merlin thrust out his hand, flattening a thin strip through the rioting swarm before the king and the sorcerer rushed forward in harmony.

The unnervingly human wails of the monsters as Arthur ran them through were beginning to cut into Merlin's conscience. After all, not long ago they had all be people. But his emotions fled when he was seized by the shoulder and turned to glimpse a blood-soaked garden-hoe being swung full force at his head. With a flash of his irises and an internal surge of electricity he sent the once-human back on its heels in a pile of smoldering flesh.

When they saw light through the riot Merlin heard Arthur's command.

"RUN!" The king bellowed with unfamiliar desperation. Merlin didn't think twice before barreling after the armor-clad warrior, unable to block out the howls of the predatory horde at their backs.

Adrenalin keeping exhaustion from taking him under, Merlin was at Arthur's side as they fled down the main road—knowing that the hellish throng was spilling down the street behind them, leaping cars with superhuman might and militaristic formation.

Arthur grabbed him by the sweatshirt, swinging the sorcerer into and alley and slamming his back against the brick wall. Merlin was about to set off another missile of kinetic energy when an unfamiliar arm seized him from behind and pulled him deeper into the alleyway.

Three men tore in from behind them, wielding military-grade firearms and spraying the horde with a hail of bullets. Merlin turned to Arthur who'd gone white as a sheet—his lips parted and his eyes wide in a way Merlin had never seen. Monsters fell in the streets as the swarm was peppered with lead from a man who was now shouting incoherently in the chaos. The two men behind him were more collected—standing straight and looking far less enthralled by the action. A fourth man was standing behind Arthur and Merlin. The young sorcerer was yet to get a good look at him.

"Back! Fall back!" One of the two calmer men shouted over the cacophony of gunfire. Merlin felt a tug at his shoulder and suddenly the group was running at full speed toward the other end of the alley. Dumpsters groaned under the weight of the swarm as it funneled into the small space.

When they broke out of the shadows once more, Merlin saw a tall chain-link fence up ahead. Another man was holding it open, his own weapon slung across his shoulder, and was waving for them to speed up and file through the metal gate. Merlin followed the men through the opening just in time for the makeshift soldiers to pull it shut and fasten the latch. The Beasts slammed into the fence full force. It groaned loudly, making Merlin fear that it might come down.

A quick glance around told the young sorcerer that they were standing on an abandoned football field.

"Come on." The man who'd been guarding the gate gestured to the announcer's box that loomed over the center line. Merlin ran his eyes over Arthur who was panting and sweating heavily under the weight of his armor. The king couldn't seem to take his eyes off the guns the men were wielding. Merlin wanted to make sure his companion wasn't injured, but aside from looking shaken up and mortified by half of the things going on around him, Arthur was fine. This sent and unexpected ripple of white-hot relief down the young warlock's spine.

The bottom level of the announcer's box was dusty and filled with the stench of unwashed equipment. It was dark, but a stream of daylight spilled down a thin flight of stairs overhead.

As the last of the men shut the door, Merlin looked over just in time to glimpse Arthur lashing out with his sword, pinning the nearest of the men against the wall and press the blade of Excalibur against his neck.

"Arthur!" Merlin found himself exclaiming. The remaining four soldiers had their guns on his king before he could blink.

The man against the wall broke into an arrogant smile, tilting his head back and looking at Arthur through long, unruly brown hair.

"Easy _Sir Lancelot_." The man joked. Arthur wasn't amused—for obvious reasons. The cocky man pressed his gun against the king's abdomen.

"Everybody calm down." Merlin tried. "Arthur—"

"Listen to your boyfriend." The man against the wall smirked. Merlin straightened up, stifling the heat the rose to his cheeks.

Arthur narrowed his eyes in an expression of acute dislike before sheathing his sword pointedly and taking a step back. The man peeled himself off the wall, completely unfazed.

"Who's the knight in shining armor?" The same man spoke, nodding to his previous attacker. Arthur shot him an annoyed glare and answered before Merlin could stop him.

"I'm King Ar—" He bit back his words after he met Merlin's desperate gaze. Merlin knew the king would have no knowledge of his own legend, so he had to hope Arthur understood what he was trying to say. The king looked away from Merlin and continued, "I'm Arthur."

"Arthur." The soldier standing by the closed door repeated. He was a kind-faced man with curly hair and a serious but calming air about him. Merlin wasn't going to lie about how familiar all this felt to him—he just couldn't place why. The man continued, "I'm Liam."

"So now it's just friendly introductions?" The cocky, long haired man who'd just been slammed against the wall broke in, "You know this guy's wearing armor and toting a sword around—not to mention , you know, _attacking people with it_."

"I think we'd all benefit from at least knowing what to call each other." A new voice broke in. Merlin was taken by how smooth and deep it was as it silenced the chatter of the others. The man speaking was the one who'd held the gate open for them—an almost shockingly handsome gentleman with dark hair and eyes and suntanned skin. Again, that disturbing sensation of familiarity swept over the young warlock. "I'm Landon."

"I'm Eli." Said the tall, dark skinned man who'd already started up the stairs.

"Price." The only one who hadn't spoken yet answered. He was massively tall and thickly muscled, with short-cropped hair and a handsome but hard-looking face. Despite how intimidating he was, there was a gleam of friendliness in his eyes. So far he seemed to be the quietest one in their ragtag gang.

The long haired man was the last of the soldiers to answer. He made sure to flash Arthur a distrustful glare before nodding "Name's Shane."

All eyes were on Merlin who was still trying to sift through his eternity of memories and figure out why these men were so familiar—it couldn't be…

"I'm Merlin—" He said without thinking, immediately fighting the urge to clamp his hands over his mouth. _Stupid!_ He thought.

The men all eyed him curiously.

"Now that's a name." Liam's mouth twitched up into a small smile. "Do any magic _Merlin_?"

"My—erm—my dad was a literature professor." Merlin lied. "Big fan of the erm—legends and all." He gave Arthur a quick look. The king was smart, meeting the young warlock's eyes and giving him his telltale "_we need to talk—immediately_" glare.

"As much as I love all this girl talk," Shane joked, "I could really go for some of that food we just risked our lives for."

There was a pause while the curly haired man glanced around at his group. "You two can stay if you'd like." Liam spoke, "you're obviously good fighters given you've stayed alive this long. We could use a couple men like you back at the castle."

"What castle?" Arthur spoke up at last. His tone was dark and imposing—like a king's.

"Ruins in the countryside where we've set up a base for survivors." Landon answered in his smooth, warmly familiar voice.

Despite Arthur's clear distrust for the men who must have seemed so strange to him, Merlin knew it would be best to stay. He gave the king a special look—the kind he used when he silently tried to give the king counsel. Arthur rolled his eyes but must have felt he was in no position to reject the offer and head back out into the mayhem.

"Thank you for your offer." Arthur said nobly, "We'll stay."

As Eli went first up the thin staircase he looked around at his friends.

"So we have an 'Arthur' _and_ a 'Merlin', next thing you know we're Knights of the Round Table."


	5. Chapter 5: Revelations in the Night

Chapter Five: Revelations in the Night

"Merlin!" Arthur whispered through clenched teeth, trying to keep quiet so that he wouldn't wake up the sleeping knights—soldiers—whatever it was these strange men with their strange weapons were. There was a familiarity surrounding the scene that Arthur didn't understand—perhaps it was how much these men reminded him of his knights. At that thought, a quickly stifled wave of lament swept over him.

Merlin groaned and rolled over. Arthur kicked him again. They were on the second floor of a small building, not unlike the one above the jousting ring that had once stood in Camelot. It was closed on all sides and the sleeping group was surrounded by windows of that same smooth, colorless glass that Arthur had been seeing everywhere. How people had managed to fashion it into such large panes Arthur was yet to wrap his head around: Which reminded him of another flood of questions he had to ask Merlin—_immediately_.

"MERLIN!" Arthur hissed, this time not hesitating to flick his sleeping companion lightly on the back of the neck. Merlin's body tensed and he let out a small yelp just in time for Arthur to slide his hand over the servant's mouth, gripping his face roughly and turning it toward his own. Merlin's deep gray eyes were wide with confusion. His face was warm to the touch—almost pleasantly so—but Arthur shook the thought out of his mind and proceeded to give the young sorcerer an impatient glare. Just like old times.

Arthur jerked his head in a clear "come this way" gesture then took another look around at the men who were fast asleep around them—all except for Shane who was out in front of the small building keeping watch. Arthur had been up all night, studying their shift rotations, so he knew Shane's wouldn't be over for at least another hour, give-or-take.

Once his he removed his hand from over Merlin's lips, Arthur crept to his feet, careful that his armor didn't make any unwanted sounds. He heard the quiet thud of Merlin's footfalls following close behind him. The door was latched from the inside, and although the lock was more complicated than those Arthur was accustomed too, it wasn't hard to figure out.

The hatchway opened surprisingly quietly, allowing Merlin and Arthur to slip through without a sound. Once shrouded in the darkness of the empty first floor, Arthur shoved Merlin past him. With a quiet thud, Merlin fell against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Arthur was down in seconds, pinning the young sorcerer against the stone wall and hissing:

"What the _hell_ is going on Merlin!"

Arthur watched Merlin swallow before answering in his usual calm voice, "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do _Merlin_!" Arthur made sure to put extra emphasis on the servant's name. His heart was flooded with a mixture of confusion, frustration, and something he hated like fear. The young king could only hope that Merlin didn't see it in his eyes.

"You'll have to be more specific than that." The young sorcerer's tone was verging on teasing, which sent rippled of heat up Arthur's spine. Suddenly the he was aware of how close his face was to Merlin's. Even in the near-darkness, he could see the slight flush on Merlin's high, ivory cheeks. The king's eyes betrayed him, straying down to the servant's pink lips which were shifting from a mischievous smile to an expression of innocent confusion as the Arthur suddenly struggled to find his words. He swallowed and took a step back, hoping that the red rising in his cheeks would go unnoticed in the dim light that surrounded them—especially since he didn't understand why.

Arthur coughed, suddenly feeling like his clothes were to tight, "I mean these men. What's the significance behind our names?"

Merlin seemed to shake himself out of some sort of daze before answering in a low tone to match his king's. "It's the legends-Of Camelot, and of you and me. I always said history would remember you. You were-_are_ perhaps the greatest king to ever live…" There was a sad fondness in Merlin's eyes.

Arthur straightened up, struggling to process the words coming out of the sorcerer's mouth. He inhaled, trying to take in the strength to ask the question that had been gnawing at him all this time.

"Merlin," He began, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "What happened to Camelot?"

A wave of sadness seemed to come crashing down over the young sorcerer, forcing Arthur's heart down into his stomach. Merlin's face told him everything he needed to know. A painful hiraeth consumed the king as he pressed his palm against the wall, fearing he would lose the ability to stand.

"It…" Merlin seemed to struggle, "It fell. It was conquered."

"B-by whom?" Arthur couldn't meet his best friend's eyes.

"The Normans… a few hundred years after your—um—your death."

When Arthur was silent, Merlin went on. "They took most of Britain. I kept expecting you to come back then—but apparently a darker day was coming for Albion."

"And that time is now?" Arthur swallowed his sadness and managed to speak; holding his head higher as if feigning strength would give him some.

"It looks that way." The sorcerer replied. There was kindness in his silvery-blue eyes that Arthur had seen many, many times before. He felt a weak little smile flash across his face as he looked away from Merlin again and spoke.

"And these 'legends'?"

"Camelot lives on in the hearts of men. Although, most people are convinced it's just myths and legends. Fairy tales with movie adaptations."

"Mova—what?" Arthur frowned.

"Nevermind." Merlin smiled, "It's not important. Especially since I doubt there's going to be any movies for a while."

Arthur didn't exactly know how to reply to that so he changed the subject.

"Those weapons that the men up there have…"He didn't have to finish for Merlin to give him a look of understanding. Whatever they were, they were bloody terrifying—and Arthur wasn't afraid to admit that to himself. He'd spent the past hours of fake-sleep staring at them. The men pulled a small, finger sized lever and they struck down armies.

"Guns." Merlin answered, "Firearms. They fire bullets." He seemed to realize that Arthur didn't understand any of what he'd just said. "You pull a trigger and a little sharp ball of led shoots out of the barrel fast enough to tear right through a man's armor."

"And that's what they did to those-erm—those things back there?" Arthur nodded his head in no direction in particular.

"Yeah." Merlin replied. "Think of it like a bow and arrow, but it takes much less skill to learn, it's 500 times more accurate in the hands of a non-professional, and 500 times more deadly—on a large scale at least. Not to mention you can shoot from much further away and still hit the same target. And you don't have to reload every time you fire."

Arthur's confusion was replaced with awe—and a hint of apprehension. What if such weapons were turned on him—_or Merlin_?

"I'd bet wars these days are over much faster." Arthur suggested.

Merlin's voice tone was both light and dark at the same time. "I think you'd be surprised."

Once again, Arthur internally mused over the things Merlin must have seen and experienced in all his years of immortality. He prayed that one day the two would have chance to sit down for hours and Merlin could spill his lifetimes out to Arthur.

"So is that the only reason you through me down here and nearly beat me up?" Merlin teased.

A warm smile stretched across Arthur's face. "I didn't beat you up, you clotpole!" the king stole Merlin's favorite insult, nudging him playfully. "And also, the knights upstair—I mean soldiers…"

"Yeah, I keep calling them knights too…" Merlin looked up as if he could see them through the ceiling. "They just have that way about them I guess."

"Yeah, a bit of a brotherhood." Arthur finished.

"I was thinking more like their habit of bullying other people." Merlin muttered loud enough for Arthur to hear. When the king turned to Merlin the young servant was grinning at him, running his tongue nonchalantly over those pink lips. Arthur gave him a teasing death stare and things felt like old times again—a feeling Arthur was beginning to treat like a drug. Something sweet and addictive. Something that only Merlin could give him.

"You know…" a new voice cut through the pause. Arthur turned to see Shane leaning in the doorway, his long haired silhouette looking smug. "If you two wanted to be alone you could have taken watch. I wouldn't mind the extra sleep."

Arthur's cheeks flushed with that annoyingly familiar fire again and he coughed uncomfortably. Merlin was looking equally awkward.

"We weren't no—We were just talking." Arthur assured the almost-stranger.

Shane shrugged, "Hey," he started to walk past them, "You two could be _reading poetry_ for all I care. Just don't' do it when I'm in the room."

Apparently Arthur had miscalculated when it came to how much time was remaining in Shane's shift. Moments later, Price came down looking just as huge and intimidating as ever. He had a gun, one of the longer two-handed ones, slung across his shoulder. When he saw the two standing in the storage room he said nothing—which seemed to be customary for him—but an amused grin crept across his face. Arthur had a sudden impulse to smack it off of him but thought better of it.

"You guys had better finish up in here. We've got a long trip ahead of us in the morning." Shane called from the top of the stairs. Arthur shot him a look, then turned to Merlin who couldn't seem to meet his eyes.

"We probably should get some sleep." Merlin suggested quietly.

"Yeah." Arthur agreed as they started back up the stairs. Wherever they were going tomorrow—"_the castle"_—Arthur knew he would be faced with a hundred more things he didn't understand. He'd need his energy for that. On the other hand, he wasn't sure why, but he didn't think he'd be getting much sleep lying back-to-back with Merlin for the rest of the night.


	6. Chapter 6: Storefronts

Chapter Five: Storefronts

Merlin was shaken awake by an empty backpack being hurled on top of him. He opened his eyes, for a moment expecting to see Gwaine standing over him with that crooked grin of his but instead he looked up and found Shane, with an eerily similar look in his eyes. The young warlock's first thought was to scan the room for Arthur, who it turns out was already awake and standing off to the side staring right back at Merlin.

"We're off in five." Liam peered into the sorcerer's field of vision for a split second before continuing to break camp. Merlin sat up, still groggy and filled with a sensation of deja-vu that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The previous night came flooding back—erasing anything on his mind and replacing it with that sticky, hot feeling of Arthur pinning him against the wall. Merlin swallowed, banning the image from his brain just long enough to begin throwing his blanket into his pack. That was another thing—Arthur needed a backpack of his own. Merlin's wasn't big enough to fit both their stuff. Perhaps at the castle—

"We're making a stop back in town." Eli said, as if he'd read Merlin's mind. "Two more people means two more people's worth of supplies." At least they were being welcoming about it. Despite Merlin's sarcastic comment about the men being bullies the night before, Arthur had been right as well. They did have a bit of a brotherhood—which probably came from surviving the apocalypse together. And their brotherhood was one they were opening up to Merlin and Arthur and for this, the young warlock was grateful.

As the last of the supplies were packed up, the eight of them filed out the door. Each of the men toted a gun. Liam had offered one to Merlin but he declined—perfectly fine on his own although he didn't dare say why. The curly haired man had offered one of the extras to Arthur as well. The king had just looked back at Liam like he was offering him a chalice of poison. It was probably for the best anyways—at least until Arthur had had a chance to learn how firearms worked. Merlin half-laughed-half-cringed at the image of Arthur shooting himself in the foot.

Outside, the air was cooler than the day before—a sign that winter would soon coil itself around the land. Arthur was at Merlin's side in an instant as the two walked close by while the rest of the men filed into a line. They made their way soundlessly through the gate at the opposite end of the field from town and out into a parking lot where a single care was parked, skewed across two spaces. Liam took a quick look around while Landon peered beneath the car. Their actions seemed ritualistic—like they'd been done over and over. When Landon shot him a stoic nod, Liam jammed the keys into the car door and a small click signaled that it was unlocked. Merlin took the momentary lull in action to take a look at Arthur.

The king was staring apprehensively at the vehicle. His eyes flickered over to Merlin who was trying not to laugh.

"We're going to ride in that thing?" The king said so that only Merlin could hear.

"Yes." Merlin whispered back. "Just relax. It's perfectly safe no matter how strange it seems." To Merlin's surprise, his words seemed to calm Arthur. It had occurred to the young wizard a few times already how lost Arthur must be—how needy and out of control he must be feeling. Merlin added, "And for god's sake don't act like you've never been in a car before." He gave Arthur a friendly nudge and looked around to see if the "knights" were watching their exchange.

"Are you two going to stand there and flirt or are you going to get in?" Shane teased. Merlin inhaled as he felt the blush rising in his cheeks and brushed it aside—piling into eight person van with Arthur close behind. They squeezed into the very back seat alongside Price who gave them a quiet nod as they settled in.

"Where too?" Eli, who was driving, asked Liam. "Are we just headed into town the front way? "

"Doesn't matter," Shane interjected, "Those possessed freaks'll be crawling all over town whichever way we go in."

"Not necessarily. They're probably off tending their wounds outside of town. They're never out in the mornings anyways." Landon said.

This was new information for Merlin that he quickly stowed away. As Eli turned the key in the ignition, the vehicle roared to life. Beside Merlin, Arthur's entire body tensed, his gauntlet shrouded hand flying to cover his mouth. The sorcerer watched his king squeeze his eyes shut as they pulled out of the parking lot.

"We're gonna need to stop for gas in tow—hey what's wrong with him?" Eli asked Merlin who wasn't sure what to say. Arthur curled out of fetal position and was sitting there gripping the armrest for dear life as they accelerated down the main road.

"He's just, um, he gets really car sick." Merlin lied, nudging his friend who nodded stiffly—his full-lips pursed in an expression of internal anguish.

"Well make sure he doesn't puke or anything." Shane said, rolling down his window.

Merlin turned to Arthur and whispered urgently, "Relax. It's fine."

Arthur turned to him with irritation in his wide eyes and hissed through clenched teeth "How am I supposed to relax when we're in a wagon that _moves by itself_?!"

They were probably going about 55 down the main road now and Merlin realized this was almost double the fasted speed Arthur would have ever gone.

"How does this thing go so fast without horses?!" Arthur whispered, beginning to look a bit green in the face.

"It erm—" Merlin didn't feel like going through the explanation since Arthur would have no idea what _gasoline_ or _batteries_ were, "just look out the window."

"There's nothing out my window but blurs!" Arthur hissed again. Luckily the other men were chattering loud enough to hide their whispers. Merlin found himself wanting to laugh—when they weren't in danger, Arthur dealing with the modern world was actually sort of—_cute_. The young warlock had never thought of anything his king did as "cute" before—probably because Merlin was always the one who acted like a hopeless idiot. Now it was Arthur's turn and this made Merlin want to smile—but he didn't for the sake of his king's pride.

When they arrived at their destination, the street was deserted. It was the same main street they'd stood on the day before, only now it was littered with the bodies of the monsters that'd fallen in the hail of gunfire.

As they filed out of the car, Liam addressed them all informally, "Okay so we're going to need some more food, another blanket, baby formula for back at the castle, and well, anything else you can find that might be useful. More bags would be good as well. Eli, Landon—you two head to the grocery store and get food. Price and I will head to the sports store for ammo and camping supplies. Shane, you stay with these two and help _King Arthur_ over hear find something to wear that won't make a ton of noise whenever he walks. Merlin, you can help with that."

A quick look at Arthur told Merlin that the king didn't like taking orders from this Liam guy—but at least he understood that he had no other choice for the time being. Arthur clearly wasn't too fond of being escorted around by Shane either—then again, neither was Merlin.

"If you hear gunfire, run toward it and help." Liam finished and the group split into three. Merlin, Arthur, and Shane didn't have to look long before they found a store that had, at one time, sold clothes.

They opened the glass door to the storefront as quietly as they could, Shane stepping in rifle-barrel first before nodding for Arthur and Merlin to enter. The store had been hardly picked through, which was surprising, although not if everyone in town had fled. Most people didn't worry about having a change of clothes in those situations. Once the three of them had cleared the store, they felt free to speak.

"This armor might actually be useful." Shane said, "You know, later on. We can keep it in the trunk of the van if you'd like."

Arthur nodded. It was the least sarcastic thing Shane had said since they'd met.

"So are those like antiques or something? That stuff is insane. Where'd you get it?"

Merlin looked at Arthur after realizing that the king was going to have to lie for himself on this one.

"It's—I—um—it's been in my family for generations." Arthur said, straightening up.

"What about this sword?" Shane grabbed for the weapon in Arthur's belt but the king's hand was on it first, locking eyes with the long haired man and raising his chin.

"Right, so '_don't touch the sword'_, my bad." Shane gave Arthur a crooked grin, taking nothing seriously (as usual), but managed to at least put up his hands and step back.

The three of them began to sift through the racks of clothes for something that might fit the king. Arthur stuck close to Merlin while Shane left their side.

"Think lightweight but something that covers the whole body." Shane called from a few isles away, "and don't leave anything for those killing bastards to grab at."

"How does this even go on?" Arthur held up a pair of overalls, causing Merlin to burst out laughing. It was hard to picture his king in anything but a tunic or chainmail—let alone overalls.

After a few more minutes of searching, some sarcastic comments from nearby, and many skeptical whispers from Arthur, the young king held up a rather short skirt.

Merlin laughed, "That's for women…"

"I know that you idiot!" Arthur bantered, "I'm saying do woman actually—wear this? Like, as clothes?"

"No Arthur, its jewelry." Merlin teased, "and don't say stuff like that around the men, they'll think you're _from the dark ages."_

Arthur was clearly not amused while Merlin bit his lip to keep from laughing at his own joke. Before long, they'd found a red hoodie, a white tee-shirt, and a pair of jeans that just might be fit for a king. Merlin tried not to crack up as he explained what boxers were to a very irritated looking Arthur.

Shane walked over with a pair of brown work boots and thrust them into Arthur's arms. "They're size 11. I hope you can squeeze into them."

Arthur looked down at the shoes uncertainly.

"They're fine." Merlin answered for him.

"You can change wherever but there's a changing room over there." Shane nodded to a small door near the back.

"Thanks" Merlin nodded, ushering Arthur toward the back room. He could have changed out in the open, but in private there was a less of a chance of Shane asking questions about the fact that even Arthur's underwear looked like it was from medieval times.

"You're going in with him?" Shane raised an eyebrow.

"He needs help getting out of his armor." Merlin assured the man, flinching when a smirk crossed Shane's his stubble-sprinkled jaw.

"Ri-i-ight…" Shane drew out the word, giving Merlin a wink and saying, "Just don't take too long in there—the sooner we get out of here the better."

Merlin fought off another blush before giving the man a nod and nudging Arthur toward the back room.

They were standing close when the door clicked shut and Merlin let out a sigh. Being alone with Arthur was easier than trying to lie about their past to a bunch of soldiers.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked while the sorcerer was trying to ignore how close they were standing.

"Yeah." Merlin replied, unlatching the strap across Arthur's back that held the shoulders of his armor on. The young warlock went through the motions as though he'd been doing it every day for the past thousand years—as if no time had passed at all.

Merlin looked over Arthur's shoulder when the king didn't reply. Arthur's hand was resting gently on the long glass mirror in front of him, his fingers caressing the smooth glass and his blue eyes narrowing in a curious awe that made Merlin smile.

"It's a mirror." Arthur pointed out the obvious. "It's so…"

"Clear?" Merlin finished, realizing Arthur would only ever have seen himself in the highly polished plates of metal that passed for mirrors back in the middle ages.

Merlin ran his hands over Arthur's suddenly bare shoulders—as he'd done many times over. To his surprise, the king shuddered at his touch and stepped away, his attention suddenly drawn from the reflection and his eyes on Merlin.

"I—" Arthur struggled to begin, "I think I can undress myself _Merlin_." Merlin saw the lump in his king's throat bounce up and down, suddenly aware of the way Arthur's bare chest rose and fell, still tan and scarred from battle after battle. His eyes were gunmetal blue in the fluorescent light and his hair was flaxen and unruly. Merlin felt his pulse rise and took a step away so he couldn't feel the king's heat that seemed to be driving him mad.

Arthur gave Merlin a final once over with those electric eyes before stripping down completely, sending the young Sorcerer's head spinning in ways he didn't understand. He looked up and away, pretending to be fascinated by the sign on the back of the changing-room door.

Arthur managed to get the jeans on himself—that was pretty self-explanatory after all, and the tee-shirt was the same shape as his chainmail, but when the time came for him to slide into the red hoodie Merlin turned to catch him holding it upside down and frowning.

"This is ridiculous Mer-lin," there he went enunciating his name again. "This doesn't even feel like fabric."

"It is," Merlin assured him with an amused smile, "its cotton. Not silk or wool."

"Right." Arthur huffed.

"Here, let me help." Merlin grabbed the sweatshirt and pulled it over the king's head rather roughly. He could practically _hear_ Shane rolling his eyes outside waiting for them to hurry up. As Merlin's hands brushed across Arthur's bare flank, the king seized in a breath and jumped away from the sorcerer's touch like he'd been electrocuted.

"Get away Mer-lin." He enunciated, "I can do it myself. I'm not a child."

"That's a change." Merlin teased, but took a step back.

_Get away Merlin…_

The king's words echoed in Merlin's head over and over as his vision blurred, prompting him to lean against the wall. Suddenly, the sounds of gunfire and screams of men faded in all around. His heart sped up as he blinked rapidly; trying to regain his sight as reality seemed to be slipping further away. He squeezed his eyes shut just as he felt himself fall against the door. When he opened them, he could see Arthur standing before him, dawning chainmail and shouting orders at faceless men. The king's body was drenched in blood and dirt—looking much like it had at the battle of Camlan. Beyond the silhouette of the king was a battlefield bathed in the fiery red of dawn. Explosions roared around them like a World War II scene, rattling the earth and accompanied by the cries of battle-hardened men.

_"Get away Merlin!"_ Arthur's voice sounded distant as the illuminated figure of the king reached out and shoved the young warlock so hard that he staggered back and hit the ground. As Merlin fell, he met Arthur's eyes which were filled with the undeniable sorrow of guilt and pain—but his face was the image of grave valiance once more as he unsheathed Excalibur, shouted something into the air before his body was peppered with bullets. He fell to his knees first—painfully similar to the first vision Merlin had seen of his king's death. Excalibur fell from King Arthur's hands with a metallic clang that was louder than even the mighty roar of battle—like bells chiming out the death of the Once and Future King.

"No!" Merlin lurched forward, rising to his feet and feeling his body fill with power. He couldn't lose him again—never—not like this.

"Merlin!" the young Warlock heard a voice.

The sorcerer blinked, sending the vision away with a gasp of agony. His heart was racing and his eyes were filled with impending tears. He blinked them away when he saw Arthur standing over him—clad in cotton and grasping him firmly on the shoulder. The king's eyes were filled with blind worry.

"Merlin what the hell?!" The king barked when Merlin sat up, shaking away the vision.

"Sorry." He didn't know what he was apologizing for.

"Was that some kind of magic episode? Does that happen often?" Arthur's brow furrowed.

"No." Merlin replied. "I—I don't know what it was. It's never happened before." That wasn't a lie. Merlin had seen prophecies before but never like this—never on his own. It made him wonder if maybe it wasn't a vision at all—rather than hallucinations brought on by being suddenly reunited with Arthur.

Was he that afraid of losing him?

"So… Are you okay then?" Arthur narrowed his eyes.

Merlin nodded, shuddering slightly. The image was still fresh in his mind—and it reopened thousand-year old wounds. He stood up, praying that it was just a fearful hallucination, and followed Arthur outside.


	7. Chapter 7: Up in Flames

**Hi! This chapter's a little shorter but I already have the next on written so that'll be up real soon. I'm also going to have to change the rating to M pretty soon so prepare yourselves for that... anyways Enjoy! Disclaimer: (Since I ought to put one of these just in case) Nothing Merlin-related is mine!**

Chapter Seven: Up in Flames

Arthur was beginning to grow tired of his heart racing—something he'd always loved.

There was the constant bombardment of terrifying new things, the mortifying car rides, the guns, the chases and the running—and worst of all his heart erupting in his chest every time Merlin even got close to him. Arthur wanted nothing more than to crawl back into his bed in Camelot and stare at the ceiling until he understood what his racing heart wanted. Of course—this was impossible.

Unable to make conversation with his friend around the knigh—soldiers, Arthur sat silently as the self-propelled cart rumbled down the long flat road. The village was far behind them, and Arthur had to admit that these new clothes were more comfortable than his armor which now rattled around in the storage hatch on the back of the "car". He'd heard it called the "trunk".

Cars were horrifying. Loud, reeking of the blood of the earth, and far too fast. Merlin had warned him time after time throughout the hours they'd been riding to relax or he'd "have an aneurism". Arthur didn't know what this meant, but if his trusted companion was warning him against it, he knew it was bad.

Once the king relaxed his grip on the seat and squeezed his eyes shut, his pulse became steadier, leveling out as the rumbling of the mechanical beast became less of a terror and more of a lullaby. Arthur's body grew heavier, his head lulling to the side in a way that felt very much like dying had—bur he drifted off knowing he was headed for a far less permanent destination.

He dreamt of Camelot.

The citadel which rivaled the strongholds of gods-Ageless, timeless towers reaching valiantly toward the sky. The streets of the white city bathed in the colors of hundreds of people, all grateful they were kept safe by the paradise in which they lived.

Arthur dreamed of the light pouring through his bedchamber windows as Merlin threw open the curtains and made some irritating joke that Arthur had always secretly found funny. He dreamt of the clashing of swords on the practice field and the sandy clearings of the tournaments he nearly always won. He dreamt of the soft light in the meadows at dawn, the anticipation of a warm bed after a long hunt, and of the faces of those that made him feel like he was on top of the world. Arthur's heart flooded with every memory which felt as real as though he'd never fought at Camlan, and still spent his days riding through the forest, camping under the stars with the knights, and with Merlin.

The once and future king's heart skipped a beat when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.

"M—Merlin." Arthur's heart was lost in the wilderness beneath the night sky—his manservant seated across from him with firelight in his eyes.

"Arthur wake up, we've stopped."

Arthur's shot upright into reality and for the first time in the longest time he felt tears well up in his eyes. He'd grown excellent at hiding his pain and did so now as he blinked away sleep and looked up into Merlin's thoughtful gaze.

"Hard to believe you fell asleep in the car." Merlin said as they aided the other men in unpacking the "trunk". Merlin had seemed shaken ever since the episode in the back room of the store. Arthur felt again the pang of fear that had surged through his body when he saw merlin convulse and collapse. He prayed it wouldn't happen again.

"It's about two miles into the wilderness." Eli addressed them. They'd pulled the moving cart into a small patch of "asphalt". Beside this an even smaller building that was surrounded by little red, metal idols that Shane and Landon were attaching the car to. Arthur could smell the stench of the fuel he'd seen them use earlier. A few other vehicles were strewn about the manmade clearing as well, leading Arthur to believe they might not be alone.

"You boys are going to like the castle." Liam said as they began to trek into the forest. "Lots of survivors just like you two. All of them friendly. We've got rooms in the castle and then people have started setting up little houses for themselves in the ruins of the town inside the walls. Things are starting to look up a bit—I think. So far none of those killers have been able to breach the walls. Whoever built this place built it right.

"Right…" Merlin seemed distracted. He was looking around almost frantically, with a distant gleam in his eyes like he was forcing memories to the surface. The forest was heavy and deep green. Everything had changed about the land since Arthur's time and he knew nothing would be familiar to him, but still, perhaps he had ridden these woods once. The thought sent his heart lower.

"No…" Merlin said quietly after a long period of nothing but birdsong and boots crunching through moss.

"What?" Arthur whispered to his friend.

Merlin's breath was coming quicker, his eyes turned to Arthur with panicked sympathy flickering somewhere deep in his heart.

"Arthur, maybe we should turn back. We don't have to be with these people. Maybe the castle isn't our place right now." Merlin whispered. Arthur could tell when the sorcerer was lying to himself.

"Don't be stupid Mer-lin." Arthur teased, but he saw real concern in his companion's eyes.

"Listen, Arthu—"

"It's about time." Shane interrupted just as they broke through the veil of trees into a sparkling meadow. Golden light bathed the grass and illuminated the wildflowers. A wave of familiarity washed over the king as he raised his eyes to where Liam was pointing.

"Welcome to the Castle."

"No." Arthur swallowed, but his throat had turned to stone. No. No please. The king shook his head, feeling every horror, ever fear, every wave of sadness he'd stifled since rising from Avalon break over him like the pounding surf of the sea. His skin frosted over with ice as the blood rushed from it while his heart thudded like it was trying to pump molten lead through his veins. His body was numb as he scanned the stronghold before him, breath catching as disbelief and denial faded to panic.

Camelot.

"No, No god please no." Arthur begged aloud. Merlin was rushing toward him but his world was spinning, all except for the castle that rose atop a green bluff before them.

The walls had crumbled, clearly beneath the weight of some terrible siege. The earth had been toiled into trenches all along the walls as evidence of Camelot's final battle. Black burns scorched the towers like shadows climbing the stone. Age hung from every window, all warmth sucked from the citadel by the crushing hand of time. Arthur had known the possibilities since he'd first awakened in the lake, he knew that Camelot was no more—but never in the king's life had he thought he'd live to see his kingdom in ruin. Every monster lurking in the back of his mind came bubbling up from the blackness. This was not his own time. His people were dead. His kingdom was dead. Camelot was in ruins and it ripped through Arthur's heart like Mordred's blade, killing him all over again.

The once and future king swayed beneath the weight of his anguish. He heard Merlin calling his name but Arthur's mind was far from reality. It was all he could do not to clutch his breaking heart as the pain grew too heavy and forced him to his knees. White hot tears boiled from his eyes as his every memory screamed from the back of his mind. He let out a cry of tormented sorrow and crumbled.

"Camelot…" he muttered as shock overcame him, sending him spiraling into blackness. His body gave out and the last thing he felt was his face pressed into the grass and a pair of warm arms wrapping around him.


	8. Chapter 8: Return to Camelot

**Hi there! So, rating change because of reasons. Not sure if it's really M-rated material but I don't want to get it deleted or anything. Thanks for all the great comments and I hope you all enjoy! **

Chapter Eight: Return to Camelot

There was nothing Arthur loved more than Camelot, and Merlin played the heartbreak in his king's eyes over and over in his head as the men rushed the collapsed Arthur through what turned out to be bustling streets. Foreign faces turned to watch as they struggled by.

"Who's that?" Merlin heard them whisper.

"Is that man all right?" A child tugged at his mother's sleeve.

Merlin, too, had felt the pain of seeing Camelot in ruin. He'd recognized the land while they were still stumbling through the forest. He was nearly knocked back by the sight of the city he'd been away from for so many years. But his bond with Camelot was nothing compared to that of its king.

Not to mention, Merlin knew well the pain of seeing time take hold of the ancient world—his world. Everything Arthur had felt since rising must have climaxed at the moment his heart was torn out—when he'd laid eyes on Camelot.

"Here!" A new face rushed down the steps as they arrived in the tattered courtyard. It must have been the heart of the sanctuary because rugged looking travelers had set up tents there—probably having not had the chance to find a home yet in the ruins of the lower town. Merlin knew the city had been razed in the Norman Conquest, but much of it still stood—the greatest stronghold ever built could surely withstand hell and beyond.

When Merlin turned to see the girl rushing toward them, a wave of recognition crashed over the shores of his mind. Dark curls cascaded over caramel skin and large. Doe-like eyes were wide with confusion as gentle hands helped to carry the king into the palace.

Merlin didn't know how, or why, but this girl must have been Guinevere reborn. Much like the "knights" seemed so much like the ones back in Camelot—old Camelot. Their presence all sent Deja-vu coursing through the young warlock's head.

"The doctor is through here." She showed them the way but Merlin knew it well. Gaius' chambers had changed so much since the age of Camelot, but something about the room still must have felt like a place of healing since the new inhabitants had chosen it as their hospital. Perhaps it was the spirit of the old physician, still making the air smell of herbs and stew.

It was Merlin's turn to be hit by a wall of sadness as he rushed into the chambers with the other men. The room was so different—the metal shelves stocked with modern supplies, the slick-surfaced operating table where Gaius' bed had once been, and the tables arranged with stainless steel scalpels and scissors instead of iron tools and herbs. The air smelt of chemicals instead of spice and left Merlin longing for home.

"In here." An elderly man came out of nowhere and opened the door to the back room: Merlin's old bedroom. The man was tall, with short white hair and the wise look of a man with quite a few long years under his belt. His face was cut deep with wrinkles and kindness and his hands had features that Merlin would recognize anywhere, no matter what time period—the steady hands of a physician.

Merlin's bedroom had changed as well, and the men set Arthur's still form down on the cot where the young warlock's bed once was. A few shelves lined the wall—mostly covered in containers of antiseptic and a few bottles drinking alcohol that Merlin assumed was for cleaning wounds when the real stuff ran out.

"What happened?" The old physician leaned over Arthur with a stethoscope.

"He just fainted outside the walls." Liam said with genuine concern.

The doctor went about his work then stopped suddenly as he was shining a flashlight in Arthur's eyes. The old man turned to Merlin causing the young warlock to flash back to the looks he used to get from Gaius.

"Who are you?"

"Merlin." Merlin replied, "That's Arthur."

The doctor raised an eyebrow then turned back to the unconscious king.

"Is there any particular reason he would faint outside the castle."

"Erm…" Merlin wasn't sure how to explain. If this man really was like Gaius, Merlin would be spilling his life story to him within the hour, but for now the sorcerer said "He's probably a little shocked. It's been a rough couple of days, and he used to come here as a kid."

"Right…" The doctor clearly didn't believe Merlin's lies—just as Gaius wouldn't have. His expression changed instantly though. "Your friend will be fine. Luckily he hasn't damaged himself in any way. He needs to rest and then I will check for signs of psychological shock."

Merlin knew that was his cue to leave, but he didn't like the idea of leaving Arthur alone in this new place, especially after such a devastating discovery.

"If I had to guess," the physician continued, "He won't be up for a few hours. I suggest you come back in the evening, maybe around seven."

Merlin nodded. The men had already left. No doubt they had duties to attend to as able bodied men in a budding society. The young sorcerer took one last look at the sleeping king, making sure he saw Arthur's chest rise and fall at least once before he followed "modern Gwen" out into the hallway.

"Don't worry." She said in her familiarly kind voice. Merlin felt a pang of sadness for this young woman, for she had the youthful pleasantness of the Gwen he'd first met in Camelot rather than the strong, extraordinary Queen years of hardship and prosperity had beaten her into. She went on "Dr. Grey is a great physician. Before this all started he was a surgeon in London."

"Thanks." Merlin gave her a smile that was only half forced.

"I'm Jeniveve." She said hopefully, giving him a bright, yet modest beam. "Jenny for short. I see my brother and the other men found you."

"Which one is your brother?" Merlin asked as if it weren't obvious.

"Eli." She answered, and then glanced as the watch on her wrist. "I have to go. Don't worry about your friend, _Merlin_. He'll be better in no time. There's plenty to do around camp. I'm sure somebody will want your help."

With that, she walked off down the passageway, leaving Merlin lost in a whirlwind of worry and deja-vu.

Merlin had spent the next few hours exploring what had become of Camelot and deep down in his heart he believed Arthur could come to love it. Even surrounded by the horrors of this new world, the people were lively and grateful, and found hope and happiness where they could take it. They were all there for one another—as Merlin had learned was often the case for people in times of trouble. Even in ruins, Camelot lived on the hearts of its decedents.

"Hello?" Merlin peered into the Doctor's office and glanced around. The chamber was dark save for a dim light glowing from beneath the back room door. It was late evening, and the night around him was as dark as Merlin had seen it in years.

He kicked himself, remembering that another "patrol" (which was apparently what he and Arthur had been found by) had come back in pretty bad shape.—riddled with bites and slashes. The doctor—Dr. Grey, would be with them in the citadel somewhere where he had more space to work. _So these creatures could use weapons—although not guns… not yet anyway._

Merlin slipped quietly through the room, careful to avoid the edge of the table as he advanced toward the back. There was no sound coming from the other side of the door and Merlin wondered if perhaps Arthur was still asleep.

He didn't knock, not that he ever did, and opened the door with relatively little sound. Within the room, several candles burned at Arthur's bedside. Arthur was awake, hunched over and clasping a bottle of some brown liquid that Merlin quickly identified as whiskey.

"Arthu—"

"I can't do this Merlin." The king was seated on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the bottle in his hands. Merlin was certain he'd never seen his king look quite so broken. "I can't do this. This world—everyone is dead. Camelot is dead."

"Arthur." Merlin had dealt with this pain long ago—and much less dramatically. He couldn't imagine the shock that Arthur must have been going through. He took a step further into the room, allowing the door to drift shut behind him. "Camelot is not dead."

"The city was razed!" Arthur slurred, pouring his brilliant blue gaze into Merlin's. His eyes were red and his cheeks glimmered with tears that had run out hours ago. Arthur was clearly drunk. "I'm not blind!"

"The city is in ruins." Merlin agreed, "But Camelot lives."

Arthur swigged the last of whatever he was drinking and frowned as the bottle ran dry. The king let his forehead fall against the glass.

"Where'd you get this?" Merlin walked over and snatched the bottle from Arthur's grasp.

"Cabinet." Merlin looked over to where the cupboard doors were askew on the wall. Arthur was drinking the Doctor's backup antiseptic.

"Arthur." Merlin set the empty bottle down and sat beside his king. "Camelot lives—in you and in me. And in these people."

Arthur gave him a skeptical glare.

"You know." Arthur slurred, "That whole 'wise-man' act of yours gets annoying pretty fast." At least the king's tone had changed.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Merlin gave his king a smile. Arthur's lips twitched for a moment before he looked back down.

"What does that make me? I'm not king anymore."

"You'll always be king of Camelot, Arthur." Merlin assured him of what he knew to be true. "It's your destiny. They may not know it yet, but these people—Albion—they need you."

"Yeah?" Arthur rolled his eyes, "For what?"

Merlin's head spun for a moment as he flashed back to his vision—of Arthur leading a modern army into battle. _Was this his new destiny?_

Arthur continued, "I'm useless in this world Merlin. I don't know how anything works!" Arthur stood up, prompting Merlin to follow. The king batted the empty bottle off the end-table in rage. It shattered on impact with the cold stone floor.

"Arthur." Merlin said soothingly. His vision of the king flowed through his mind clearly now: Commanding troops on the battlefield—exactly where he belonged. "I don't know why, or when, or for what exactly, but _please_ trust me. You're Arthur Pendragon, Once and Future King of Camelot, and Albion needs you." He averted his eyes, his heart swelling with affection for his friend. "and I need you to stay with me."

Something shifted in Arthur's blue eyes—a flash of something else through all the pain and uncertainty. Merlin saw Arthur swallow hard.

The young warlock was suddenly aware of how close they were standing when Arthur poured his eyes into Merlin's. They were red and filled with emotion, but there was something else—something primal in the king's intoxicated gaze.

"And _I_ need _you._" Arthur slurred in a sultry voice that made Merlin's heart pick up. The king stepped closer, close enough for Merlin to feel the warrior's heat on his own flesh. "I need you, _so_ much closer…"

Merlin swallowed, "Arthur I—" but the King seized him by the waist and pulled the warlock against him, pressing his lips hungrily against Merlin's. The young sorcerer went weak at the knees, his body flooding with heat as he couldn't bring himself to push Arthur away. Every strange thing he'd been feeling, ever heart-racing moment, every rush of blood—it was this. This fiery, thick, hot lust that coursed through him like lava spilling out of a volcano.

"No, Arthur—" Merlin tried to object but his voice came out low and husky in a way it never had before. Arthur was drunk, most likely to the point where he wasn't thinking about his actions. Merlin could taste the whisky on his lips and in his breath. As Merlin pulled back, Arthur was on him again in an instant, pinning him against the wall and staring him down with eager arousal in his gunmetal eyes.

The king pressed his body against Merlin's and trailed his lips down the sorcerer's neck, prompting blood to pool in Merlin's groin as he let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

_Oh god yes—no, NO!_ Merlin's wits returned, if only for a moment, allowing him to push Arthur away. He did his best to compose himself and pretended not to notice the arousal clearly showing in the sudden tightness of Arthur's jeans.

"I—er—I'm sorry Arthur." Merlin tried to clear the huskiness from his voice as he hurried toward the door. "I'll come and see you in the morning."

That was going to be absolute hell. How, in all this mayhem of prophecy and destiny, had Merlin managed to feel something as primal and mind-altering as lust?

_Especially toward Arthur? _

Merlin, feeling extremely uncomfortable and trying to calm the subsiding heat below his belt, practically raced out of the back room with his head low.

"Umph!" With his eyes on the floor, Merlin couldn't stop himself from smashing into the other person standing in the middle of the physician's ward.

The young warlock looked up with dread in his heart only to have it sink lower when he locked eyes with a startled Shane, standing with an armful of bandages.

Merlin stood with his mouth agape for a few seconds before he managed to stammer—"err… hi Shane! What are you doing here?"

Shane's lips curled into a stifled smile and he raised an eyebrow. Merlin's cheeks flushed.

"Doc told me to grab some extra bandages for the patrol…"

"How long have you been here?" Merlin glanced over his shoulder. Luckily Arthur hadn't followed him out.

"A minute or two." Merlin's heart sank. He wasn't sure if he was more afraid of Shane hearing them talk about Camelot or… the other thing.

"Why are you smiling?" Merlin frowned, although he knew he was blushing.

"Oh, no reason. I just won a bet is all…" Shane grinned and walked past Merlin. The sorcerer heaved a sigh of relief when he figured that Shane hadn't heard anything about Camelot, but then he realized what Shane probably _had_ witnessed. Merlin swallowed hard, unable to meet the soldier's eyes as he hurried for the door, blushing wildly.

"See ya later Mer." Shane called, "Maybe you and your… _friend_… can come down to the field for some gun training tomorrow. We could sure use a few more on the patrols…"

He might have said more, but Merlin was long gone down the hallway by then.


	9. Chapter 9: Coming to Terms

**Hi again! So I'm alive! Big apologies for taking over two weeks to upload... Just a warning, not in this chapter but within the next couple I may instigate some Leon/Gwen aka Liam/Jen (I'm so clever ;D) Also I LOVE every ones comments! Ya'll are great! Keep the reviews coming! I also apologize for all the angst! Some lighter stuff soon I promise! ENJOY! **

Chapter Nine: Coming to Terms

Arthur woke up with the suspiciously smooth sheets of the suspiciously comfortable bed clinging to him and he lifted his face from a pool of sweat. A somewhat familiar aching in his skull sloshed behind his eyes when the light of day poured from the window. What was he doing in Merlin's chambers?

"Gaius?" Arthur murmured sluggishly to the old man who'd just thrown open the shutters.

"Who?" The figure turned. He was not Gaius, and Arthur instantly recognized him as the kind physician who'd spoken to him briefly the night before. Everything surged forth from the shadows in the back of his mind—Camelot in ruins, him fainting like a little girl—but even with all the pain he was feeling, there was a glimmer of light through the thick numbness of depression. Merlin's kind words from the night before. The memory was kept sort of slushy by the drink he'd been under, but slowly it was all coming back to him, one heartwarming moment at a time.

_"Arthur, I don't know why, or when, or for what exactly, but please trust me. You're Arthur Pendragon, Once and Future King of Camelot, and Albion needs you… and I need you to stay with me."_

The memory of the boy's blue eyes in the candle-light lifted Arthur's soul from the dark abyss where it had come to rest. It was only a thread of happiness—a lifeline of faith over a pit of wild confusion, terror, and self-doubt—but it was Merlin, and Arthur was quickly realizing that his best friend and better half was all he really ever needed.

The physician left the room without saying anything so Arthur figured he'd be back in a moment. The king stood up and braced for the throbbing in his skull as he approached the window.

_But I'm not king. Camelot is dead—no!_ He pushed the thought away as he rubbed sleep from his eyes—_Merlin says Camelot lives, and I can do nothing but trust him. Camelot was never about the place anyway…_

He blinked into the sunlight and stared out at the settlement he was yet to even lay eyes on.

_It was always about…_

There it was, the upper and lower towns with smoke rising from refurbished chimneys. He could hear the familiar sounds of hundreds of footfalls on stone streets and people calling out to one another—with hope in their hearts.

_The people…_

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Arthur's heart rose.

"You're up." The physician spoke from behind him. Arthur turned—the smile that he hadn't even known was there fled.

"Yes." The king replied. He realized quickly that this was his first time talking to someone in this new world without Merlin to keep him from sounding mad. So the appropriate first question was, "Where's Merlin?"

"I'm sure he'll be over soon. It's only seven." The physician began to fumble with the cabinets and Arthur felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He hadn't been entirely certain of what he'd used to drown his sorrows the night before, and he knew even less about the art of medicine. For all he knew, whatever alcohol he drank might have been vital to curing some disease or something.

"I see you managed to get into my personal stash, even though your body was in shock…"

"I'm sorry…" Arthur's apology was sincere.

The doctor shut the cabinet and shrugged, "Well, probably wasn't good for you, but then again, neither is getting ripped to shreds by half-living monsters and that's all men your age seem to be doing these days…" he went about his work as though all were normal, but there was a twinge of bitterness in his voice. A doctor would surely be the one to meet all injuries coming in from whatever hell was outside the city walls—this poor physician must have seen enough death for a lifetime treating people in a time like this one.

"Sorry there's no running water. They've set up a manual shower sort of thing down the hall if you're interested in that. Obviously you don't have to but it's good to be clean."

_What…?_ Arthur thought. Everything the man had just said was complete balderdash to the medieval man's ears. He'd have to ask Merlin about it when the sorcerer arrived.

_Merlin…_ Arthur's memories began swimming to the surface again just as the physician spoke:

"I hope you don't mind, but Shane explained to me the nature of yours and Merlin's… 'relationship' to me last night. He's never been much for the privacy of others. If it's something you'd rather keep private you can trust me not to tell. 'Doctor-patient confidentiality' you know…" The physician gave him a friendly wink.

Arthur swallowed hard, his tongue suddenly feeling too big for his mouth. The doctor's wink finally broke the dam and sent the entirety of the previous night spilling into Arthur's conscious. He'd actually _kissed_ Merlin. Not only had he kissed _Merlin_, but he'd wanted to do so, _so_ much more than that. He'd been feeling strange things for the attractive sorcerer, even before the battle of Camlan, but never in his life has he connected those thick, hot sensations that made his pulse race to anything like… _like_ _lust_! Oh god, what Merlin must think of him! Thank god the servant had pushed him away. And god, how did Dr. Grey know? Who else knew? What was Shane talking about?

"Umm…" He stuttered.

Arthur's face must have been florid because the physician just gave him a smile and said "Say no more. Your secret's safe with me—you may want to have a word with Shane though. You'd best hope he hasn't already gone to training because if he has a moment to chat with the other boys… well… he's a gossiper that one."

_Great… now the "knights" know._

"Hello?" Arthur heard a voice that sent a pulse of elation to his heart. Merlin was peering around the door. When he saw Dr. Grey the sorcerer didn't hesitate to let himself in.

Even in the sober light of day… _God…_ Arthur felt himself wanting him. The king blinked it away, able to contain himself for a few moments while Merlin spoke—although his eyes couldn't stop straying to those perfect, sanguine lips parting and pressing together as the young sorcerer spoke.

"Arthur…erm… how are you?"

Suddenly the third wheel in the room was Dr. Grey. But smart men like doctors always figure things out quickly.

"Right, so, I'll leave you two here… I've got to do some… um… make some house calls." He fled.

"I'm," Arthur swallowed, forcing his eyes to at least stay on Merlin's face and not stray to where he really wanted them to go. "I'm… better."

Merlin half nodded. It was a slow motion that seemed to ask _'Are you still dangerously depressed?'_

"I'm not great," Arthur admitted. He'd become accustomed to confiding in Merlin about his feelings. "I won't be for a while—maybe not ever. But I'm better. And you were right."

"About what?" Merlin seemed hesitant. Perhaps he was wondering if Arthur even remembered their encounter the night before.

"This may not be Camelot anymore, but these people have made it their home and their stronghold and they're decedents of Albion. They may not need a king…" He hesitated, "But they need a fighter—not someone who sits around wasting away in bed." Arthur sounded far more certain than he felt, but he couldn't help but smile when he saw the happiness in his friend's eyes. "And who knows. Maybe they need a…" he swallowed, "a sorcerer too."

"I'm glad to hear it." Merlin grinned, "So this means you want to stay?"

"Where else is there?" Arthur shrugged—then wondered for a moment if there _was_ anywhere else. He even wondered what this time was like before the apocalypse. _How much more is there than Albion? _

"So…" Merlin began as they strode out of the Physician's ward. "Last night…" A million emotions seemed to be swimming behind the sorcerer's dark blue eyes. Arthur watched with a mixture of curiosity and desire as Merlin's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

The king was consumed by anxiety—his pulse picked up like the thundering of horses hooves. His words shot out too fast to sound natural: "RELAX MER-LIN!" He swallowed and quieted himself, "I was drunk and upset. You pushed me away so good on you for that."

He _hated_ the relief that swept through Merlin's eyes. He abhorred it more than he could have ever explained. That was proof that Merlin wasn't feeling what he was, and proof that he should _never_ mention it again.

"Where are we going?" Arthur was looking around like a lost puppy again as they passed people dressed in strange clothes walking in groups through the palace courtyards. "Where did you sleep last night?"

"The men gave me a place with them. They all stay in the castle, not far from where the knight's quarters used to be. There a bit like an army for the community." Merlin explained. "Everyone's ready to fight but there's about forty of them that have made a little militia. They're interested in you joining up too."

"Just me?" Arthur frowned curiously.

"Well me too…" Merlin assured him with a laugh that made Arthur's skin tingle, "But I'm not exactly built like a knight am I?"

"Certainly not!" Arthur teased, "Knights are fine warriors, trained for years and sculpted to physical perfection. You're only tiny."

The sorcerer looked hurt, but not really. The truth was that Merlin had bulked up a bit since Arthur had gone under, and the king couldn't pretend that he hadn't noticed.

"So you still can't use your… powers?"

"The world forgot about Magic." Merlin replied quietly. "They might not burn me at the steak anymore, but they certainly wouldn't want some newcomer with demonic abilities sleeping within their walls. Not after all that's happened."

"Right." Arthur nodded. He knew exactly where they were headed now. And when they crested the hill and heard the alien BANG of guns he knew they'd reached the old training field of the knights.

"Aye! There's our sleeping beauty!" Liam walked up to them with a smile. He had a long gun slung over his back. Arthur couldn't tear his eyes away from the weapon that he knew was more dangerous than anything he'd ever encountered before. One day, Merlin would explain to him how thousands were massacred with the sticks of fire. "You guys here to join our little Militia?"

"Unless we're needed somewhere else." Merlin shrugged.

"We saw you two do a little fighting—and our own _King Arthur_ over here can handle the melee stuff like a pro. He'll be handy when we run low on Ammo."

"You ride horses?" Arthur was staring past him at the two men on brown mounts. Between their thighs were strange saddles, but the king recognized equestrian equipment when he saw it.

"Yeah, most of our patrols are done in backcountry terrain. A little tough to get trucks through _those_ forests." He laughed, "Why? Do you ride?"

Arthur tried to think of what he could say to sound like he was from this time. "A little, mostly as a kid."

He felt proud of himself for that one.

"Great!" Leon clapped his hands together, "We'll get you started on a little target practice then!"


	10. Chapter 10: Lighthearted Training

**Hi there! So things have been a little angsty lately so this chapter is a little lighter. Also some tiny hints of Leon/Gwen aka Liam/Jen. Prepare for the UST, because there is a lot in this chapter. Ready... Enjoy!**

Chapter Ten: Lighthearted Training

Arthur hadn't felt his arms quiver under a weapon since he was six years old and his father handed him his first crossbow. He remembered looking at it as though at any moment it might turn its aim against him and plunge an arrow into his heart. But this firearm was a new kind of deadly.

The young king heard the deafening _cracks_ of "target practice" going on all around him and, in his discomfort, felt his consciousness reach out for Merlin. The young warlock was there, at his side, as usual. Arthur let out a puff of air and his shoulders relaxed. He even felt a pang of warmth rising in his cheeks as Merlin's fingers fumbled with unusual expertise over the weapon in his grasp. He worked the firearm almost as well as the other men, and Arthur did his best to catch on, but each opportunity found him too timid to squeeze the little curve of metal that he'd heard called a "trigger". His own apprehension was tugging at his temper.

"You're going to have to pull the trigger at some point, mate!" Liam, the head of the soldiers it seemed, walked by and slapped him on the shoulder. Arthur gasped and flinched in surprise. He'd never been so on-edge on the training field in his life.

"It's okay Arthur." Merlin's voice was gentle and sent ripples of warmth high and low through the king's body. The young sorcerer stepped closer, completely unaware, it seemed, of the effect he'd been having on Arthur ever since the incident the previous night.

"I can do this on my own_, Mer_lin!" Arthur jerked away when the young sorcerer tried to reach for Arthur's weapon—a "rifle" apparently.

"I'm just trying to show you how!" Merlin urged. His tone changed from cooing sympathy to irritation. His bright eyes searched Arthur's face.

"I know _how_!" Arthur objected childishly.

"Stop being such a clotpole and let me—" Merlin ignored Arthur and placed his warm hand on the king's elbow to adjust Arthur's grip. He gently nudged Arthur's hand further up the barrel while the king felt his pulse explode, throbbing in every inch of him. He seized in a sharp breath as his entire body shuddered involuntarily—including his trigger finger.

If the blast right beside his ear wasn't enough to send Arthur leaping out of his skin, the gun kicked like an animal. The burst of energy ripped through Arthur's shoulder and, having not braced himself for anything like that, sent him flying backwards into Merlin. Merlin, who'd also leapt at the sound, lost his footing in harmony with his king, and the two tumbled backwards into an unsuspecting Liam.

Liam, the most level headed man Arthur had known since Sir Leon, simply gave them a look of joking irritation before standing up and brushing the dust from his blue cotton pants.

"I think that's a sign that you two ought to take a break from target practice." He said with eyebrows raised, fighting off a laugh. "You mentioned you've ridden horses?"

"We both have." Merlin answered as the two of them scrambled to their feet.

"Great!" Liam clapped his hands together again, then reached out to cautiously remove Arthur's firearm from his hands. "I'll just, erm, take this from you then. Right—good! Let's go out for a little ride shall we?"

Just as he said it, a voice called from behind them.

"Liam!" A female voice—frighteningly familiar.

Liam turned just as a young woman raced up to him. Arthur's jaw dropped. The woman, with her caramel soft skin and cascades of raven hair, was the spitting image of Guinevere. The king swallowed hard, the kind of swallow that sends sadness down into the pit of your stomach. Heartache consumed him once again when he saw the familiar face of his one-time lover and friend.

"Gwe—" Arthur started to speak but he felt a warm hand on his arm and stopped himself. He turned to see Merlin, who was giving him a glance that said a world of words. Suddenly, standing between Merlin and this Gwen-imposter, Arthur felt the all-too-familiar war of his affections swallow his heartache. The indecision was flustering, as it had always been, though his attractions for a beautiful woman were far easier to admit than those he felt for his manservant—but the time for denial had ended centuries ago.

"Jeniveve?" Liam's voice was low and throaty in a way that made Arthur's ears perk up; and by the way they held themselves, Arthur knew there was something more than comradery between them.

"Liam, Landon is asking for you on the Northern patrol. He says Dean hurt his knee working on the wall and can't ride."

"Right." Liam's eyes didn't leave "Jeniveve's" lips for a moment as she spoke. Arthur narrowed his eyes with curiosity, and then smiled to himself. Even this strange modern day Gwen in tight men's pants had ended up falling for a "knight". Somehow that made Arthur feel a little bit better.

Liam stared after her as she walked away, prompting Arthur to raise an eyebrow.

"Right then!" the curly haired solider turned back toward the two of them, trying to stifle the besotted grin on his face. "Sorry Mates but somebody else is going to have to take you for a ride."

Merlin answered, "oh well that's alri—"

"SHANE!" Liam waved an arm to signal the soldier. Arthur's stomach did an uncomfortable flip when he remembered Dr. Grey's words that morning. The shaggy-haired knight jogged over to the group. "Take these two on a ride, will you? See how they are on a horse?"

"I'm certain these two already know plenty about 'riding'." Shane muttered with a raise of the eyebrow as Liam walked away. If the head soldier had noticed, he didn't react, and then the three of them were alone.

"Shane." Merlin nodded. He was visibly uncomfortable and Arthur fought back a smile when the young warlock's ears blushed red. He jerked his eyes away, realizing that staring after his manservant like some star-crossed lover was counterproductive to getting Shane to forget his notion that Arthur and Merlin were—whatever he thought they were. Dr. Grey hadn't specified when he mentioned _"the nature of your and Merlin's… situation." _Arthur knew he should have asked Merlin what exactly Shane had witnessed, but the thought of bringing up last night's incident again made Arthur's heart sink. He couldn't bear the memory of Merlin's eyes looking so _relieved_ as Arthur pretended to shrug off the incident. He wanted Merlin to feel everything he was feeling—the dependence, the lust, the… he didn't even know. He wanted to see something in those blue eyes to validate the desires which were tearing him at the seams.

The rag-tag militia man was looking as sly as ever when he gave Merlin a grin, "Aye mates," he practically slurred, "Looks like we're going on a trail ride."

Arthur heaved a heavy sigh as he lost himself in the gentle rocking of a horse between his thighs again. The saddle was unusual, but a thousand times more comfortable than the leather-covered wood he'd grown up on. He felt he could ride for hundreds of miles before he felt that familiar aching in his muscles.

So far, Shane hadn't mentioned anything to either Arthur or Merlin, rather he and the 4 other soldiers who had come along on the practice-patrol, including Price and Eli, just chattered mindlessly about horses and girls and the world before the "_End_" (What they called the chaos that had taken over Albion, and apparently the rest of the world.) Arthur listened to Merlin weaving seamless lies about their pretend-lives in this modern world, as though he were speaking a foreign language. The king felt a pang of self-loathing as he listened to the tales on Merlin's tongue. He was still a bit bitter that, for so long, he'd been on the receiving end of those lies. (Maybe Merlin wasn't the idiot.)

If Arthur could have ignored the unusual attire and the guns slung over the soldiers' backs, here in the shade of the ancient forest he could have been lost in a memory. The aroma of earth on the wind; the warmth and the brilliant green light dappling the forest floor; the gentle _clopping_ of horses' hooves over hard dirt and sunbaked rock. Most importantly, Merlin was riding by his side. Though he was dressed strangely and his eyes were older, they were still his eyes. Still his ivory skin set aglow by the afternoon sun. Still his black hair that somehow seemed richer in the shadows than in the light. Arthur's eyes searched lower: Those shoulders, that chest, those long fingers curled up in the reigns. The king's gaze lowered even further. Those hips grinding gently against the leather of the saddle… too slow. He wanted to see Merlin's body work back and forth as the horse cantered—no, galloped. Arthur went numb as his imagination took over. Merlin's hips rubbing against his instead of that saddle—those long, smooth fingers tangled in his damp hair. Both of them breathless, florid, and aching with passion. The feel of those soft lips, his royal tongue across that flawlessly white skin.

Arthur moaned.

"What was that?" All of the soldiers turned around with furrowed brows.

He swallowed, suddenly aware of the discomfort of riding while aroused. Arthur moved his grip on the reigns closer to his groin—secretly dying to give into his desires and rub himself through the fabric of his jeans. Instead he tried with great displeasure to hide the swollen throbbing in his trousers.

"uh…" Arthur stammered, his breath still coming too quick to seem normal. His gaze flickered back to Merlin and he regretted it instantly. The sorcerer was gazing at him with confusion and concern behind wide blue eyes. Merlin's pale vermilion lips parted ever-so-slightly and Arthur thought he might drown in his own wanting. The pleasurable ache below his belt flared.

He swallowed again. Shane fell back and gave Arthur a once-over. He knew exactly what had been going through Arthur's head, whether he actually "saw it" or not. A sly smile crept over his face. Arthur's eyes widened, trying to beg for mercy from the man without actually shouting "no!"

"I get it mate." Shane's voice was barely audible but it sent a rush of relief through the king.

"You hungry?" Shane said louder, slapping Arthur on the back, "because that was a hell of a groan. We'll stop to eat in an hour or so."

He laughed, and everyone followed his lead, dismissing it immediately. Although Merlin was still eyeing him with a hint of suspicion. Heat crawled into Arthur's cheeks as Merlin made some joke that he didn't even catch on to. All he heard was merlin's voice moaning his name.

_Arthur was most definitely hungry. _

Suddenly, the sound of a stick snapping in the trees erased all thought of anything but the possibility of danger. Arthur whipped around, reaching for the sword in his sheath only to realize that he wasn't back in Camelot. In fact, he was weaponless.

"Quiet! Everybody stop." Arthur ordered. The other men had heard the sound as well, but Shane gave Arthur a strange look.

"You're not in charge here Arthur." Merlin whispered, only so that the king could hear.

"He's right." Shane put up his hand and all of the horses halted.

Like a stampede from the tree line, what must have been three-dozen of the monsters tore from the forest on both sides of the caravan, wielding blades of various and unknown origin. They howled with songs of war.

"AMBUSH!" someone shouted. Suddenly Arthur was deafened by the roar of gunfire. His first instinct was to find Merlin with his gaze. The hoard swarmed the horses which had since defied their masters and begun rearing in the chaos, letting out brays of pain and terror as their legs were slashed at by enemy blades. Arthur's horse lurched violently, knocking its skull against his and stunning him for long enough that he felt the sharp sting of steel dig into his armor-bear shoulder. He let out a cry as gravity and hungry hands tore him from his mount.

As the king fell into the screeching hoard, he heard Merlin cry—

"ARTHUR!"


End file.
